


Such is Our Curse

by maliciousfisheeves



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliciousfisheeves/pseuds/maliciousfisheeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lothric and Lorian speak about their position as to-be Lord of Cinder, and come to a decision that shall bring great strife to many, but then again, why should they care?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such is Our Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me if I switch their names I was freaking out about this for several hours ;;;;; but also tell me so i can edit this before embarrassing myself entirely.

            He can see shadows, every now and then—but mostly it’s all just dark. Sometimes he thinks he sees light, but it’s all just waves, rolling swathes of black. His mind trying to come up with color, but it can only stumble in the dark.

            It’s not all bad though. Other senses are so much more pleasant; the sun on his skin, the smell of flowers or his mother’s perfume. The way everyone’s voices are so distinct and individual, he doubt he could ever forget who’s whom, even if he wanted to—not that he wanted to. He liked most people.

            They were kind to him, mostly. Maybe because it was because he was the prince, or maybe it was because he was ‘feeble’, or probably both, but he found it mostly in good spirits. It was less so coddling, most of the time, because that was frowned upon. They would comment if he did something wrong, but mostly he tried to return in kind.

            However, he did find himself ignored more often than not. Many times he had overheard many people. He did not always mean to, but it was not like it was his responsibility to tell them he, yes, could very well hear their conversations, and, yes, he did more than just sit and stare blankly at nothing when no one was telling him what to do.

            Lothric did not appreciate the simultaneous attention and disregard he experienced. He could at one moment be attended to and ignored. It was amazing really.

_“What do you need my prince?” One would ask._

_“I’d like to go outside.”_

            And then they’d just leave. It was quite odd.

 

            He kicked his legs a little as he sat on the stone. It had grown warm during the day, the sort of earthy warmth he liked best, and he could feel the sun on his face, a similar but different type of warmth, but it felt dimmer then. No one had noticed him pull his way onto the balcony.

            Lothric took time to relax then, listening to the city that spread out and beyond him, from what he could tell. Its mood fluctuated throughout the weeks, it seemed. Somedays it was full of life, of people talking and things moving, but lately more and more it seemed unusually quiet. Not quiet-quiet, but quieter. Less unintelligible chattering, more working.

            He could ever ponder why—not one really told him anything unless he asked.

 

            _“Where is father?” He’d asked quietly. His voice seemed to disturb some unspoken rule, some presence lording over the throne room._

_“Do not ask questions you do not want to know the answers to, my son.” She said. Her voice shook, like he’d never heard before. As though a knot around her neck strained her voice._

_“Mother, please. Where is father? I am no longer a child.”_

_He heard, almost felt, a long intake of breath, quivering like the frightened birds that nervously watched for the cook’s cat as they pecked feverishly at left overs. How many times had he stood there, hearing their cries, but unable to stop the creature because he could not tell where they were?_

_“He is gone. He will not return._

_“Inquire no more, my son. I do not have the heart to tell you.”_

_He found out anyway._

Perhaps such was the reason for the silence.

            Wind flowed around him, the sun fading some more, the warmth of the stone beginning to fade, and the coolness of night began to sink onto the land, onto him. He’d noticed a pattern—the nights had begun to grow longer, and colder. It was… pleasant. The silence.

            The last rays of sunlight faded from the world, the city seemed to slumber, but he remained.

He wondered if they’d forgotten, how’d he’d slowly stumbled his way onto the balcony, somehow past them. He’d wanted to go outside, that was all. If no one was to lead him there, then he’d get there himself.

 

            “Ah, there you are, Brother.” A voice entered the still world, gently wrestling it awake.

 

            He turned his head a little. There was a voice he’d always enjoyed.

 

            “Yes, Here I am.” He replied shortly.

 

            “How long have you been out here?’ Lorian asked, advancing. His armor made a very distinct sound as it came closer, very unlike the other armored ones in the castle.

 

            “I’m not sure, but before the sun set.” Lothric answered.

 

            “Ah, I see.” Lorian said, kneeling down somewhere besides him, to his right.

 

            The still night enraptured them both as it settled back to sleep. It was all pale black to Lothric, but hearing his brother’s gentle breath was enough to seeming fruitlessness of the act worth it. To spend time with his brother was a gift, now that they were being prepared for their crowning.

            And yet, he could sense an unrest within them both. Lothric knew why, for him—He had a question, a burning question that had racked his brain, but also that terrified him.

 

            “Brother, what do you think of the still night? I have heard whispering, of the sun fading, and the flame as well.” He finally asked, the weight of the boiling question released, but anxiety filling him. What would Lorian think as to his… ideas…

 

            “It’s pleasant.” He said.

 

            “The flame fading? Many seem distressed.” Another surge of anxiety electrified him, but it seemed to shift.

 

            “And so? If such is the case, then it shall be. All flames fade eventually.”

 

            “Bold words. There was many who would not appreciate the sentiment.” Anxiety waned to intrigue.

 

            “Perhaps. But what of you, brother? What do you believe?”

 

            He paused for a moment, letting the breeze help soothe his nerves. He needed to collect his thoughts.

 

            Lorian had always been quite intelligent, if his ideals had not always been agreed with. He had a certain unpretentious way of thinking, but in its ‘simple-ness’ it had always found itself plainly precise. Ultimately practical, and yet it was the discussion of much discourse.

 

            “I cannot say I don’t agree… but it not as though we can simply _not_ link the flame. Such is our duty, such is our curse.”

 

            Lorian laughed darkly, reminding him of the sensation cold water, “And why should we? It is not as though we were asked. We were made this way, and so cursed, not the other way around.” His voice grew dark.

 

            Lorian was not prone to lashing out in anger. No, he became like the coals of a dying fire—Lothric could never see the flame, only ever feel the extensive, damaging heat that rose and swirled into the air from what were apparently red hot echoes.

 

            “How do you know?” Lothric asked, feeling his chest tighten. A certain fear crawled down his back.

 

            It was not a question of ignorance, it was of confirmation. For many years he’d had his suspicions—of how they whispered about him, about his brother, about _why_. He did not want to let these doubt consume him—his mother and father would never attempt such a deed, would they?

            But now he knew. His father would do many things to create powerful children.

 

            “When you are the heir to the throne, with a mad king lording over them no more, many people will answer to his secrets.”

 

            “Father did not go mad, he was desperate!” Lothric felt the words spill from his mouth before he could catch them. Why was he defending him? After he’d abandoned them, after they’d hurt his mother so.

 

            He felt his brother shift, his head tilting, “Desperate for a child other than _us_?”

 

            Lothric felt his face grow hot, tears starting to well up in his eyes. They stung and burned his useless faculties, and he wiped them away furiously. Why was he upset? Why did he wish so badly to be good enough so he could set himself aflame? Why did he wish so badly for his father to remain?

 

            “I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you.” Lorian said softly, a gentle hand placed on Lothric’s shoulder, enclosing it entirely.

 

            “No, no I am fine. But Lorian, if we were to shirk this responsibility, then what would become of this land?”

 

            “It matters not. If the world is to abandon so, if so many are to look to us for such a task without ever inquiring as to what we believed, then let it crumble and fade.”

 

            A great relief washed over the younger prince.


End file.
